


A Nice Oak Tree - Gendry x Arya drabbles

by azulaahai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AUs, canon divergent AUs, collection of all my gendrya tumblr drabbles, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 07:18:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15576678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulaahai/pseuds/azulaahai
Summary: A collection of all my gendrya drabbles from tumblr.





	1. As You Wish, M'lady

**Author's Note:**

> Small gendrya drabbles not long enough to be posted individually. Mainly prompt fills.  
> From my tumblr, I'm azulaahai on there as well, come say hello or prompt me :)
> 
> This first one is a post-canon AU based on an anonymous first sentence prompt.

Gendry watched her with his deep blue eyes, put the hammer down and touched her cheek.  
His thumb ran over her skin, calloused hands finding new scars and scraps, and Arya closed her eyes and bit her lip.

It’d been so long.

She’d been up north. The war was won, but there was always someone left to fight. Gendry’d never say it, but she knew he hated it when she went.

“Arya”, he mumbled.

She looked at him then, surprised to find his dark eyes unusually gentle.

“You have new scars”, he said, voice thick. His thumb came to a halt just short of a fresh cut on her cheek, courtesy not of a raging sword-wielder, for once, but that of a malicious tree branch on the ride back home. “Someone better take a look at that, m'lady.”

“Not m'lady”, she whispered - she was tired now, the relief of being home and seeing him again a little overwhelming. “Don’t call me my lady.”

He chuckled as he pulled her closer.

“As you wish, m'lady.”


	2. (Not-So) Bad Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU based on an anonymous first sentence prompt

He had tried to tell her this was a bad idea.

Going on a camping trip was quite adventurous enough, in Gendry’s opinion. Taking a midnight swim during said camping trip - in September, which was relevant to add - had to be considered overkill even for Arya.

  
But it was becoming more and more difficult to say no to her, infuriating as she was. Gendry, despite the chilly night air making the prospect of a swim in the lake untempting to say the least, stifled a grin at the thought.  
And, even though he’d never been called a romantic, he had to admit there was something a tiny little bit beautiful about the night - moonlit, star-laden. The lake, while still not given off the “I’m at a nice temperature to take a swim in!” vibes Gendry wished for, looked serene in the dimness, and Gendry found himself taking a deep breath, relaxation spreading through him.

  
And when Arya came running out of her impromptu changing room behind the tent in a bathing suit, passing him in a sprint as she shouted dares to him to get in the water, Gendry couldn’t help but feel that this idea wasn’t such a bad one after all.

  
He’d never admit it, of course.

  
But still.


	3. Just Admit It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU based on a first sentence prompt from @gendryatrash

“Just admit that you like me already..”

It’s late and it’s dark and it’s kind of freezing out and he actually can’t believe he said that, that he actually, finally said that. It feels … good (awful). Liberating (terrifying).

Arya’s eyes are grey skies, wide, like she can’t really believe he said that either.

She’s not often speechless, Arya, so he supposes he could see that as a sort of accomplishment.

The street lays quiet as she takes deep breaths, like always when she’s angry, scribbling for words, steam rises when she breathes out in the chilly northern air and she’s really pretty in the shadows and Gendry’s in trouble, he’s fucked, he’s oh so fucking fucked.

“Wh … you … that … I don’t like you!” She spits it out like it’s a curse.

“You don’t like me?” He says it almost mockingly, but to his absolute horror there’s definitely some real hurt in his voice if you listen for it - and she always does.

“I … I mean I like you well enough, I guess …”

“Flattering.”

“I like you a normal amount, stupid!”

“Alas, you admit it.”

Arya stops then, almost scowling, looking away from him to raise her chin defiantly, gazing up at the stars as if she can’t bare to look him in the eyes any longer, her short hair falling behind her. Gendry wants to just reach over and card his fingers through it. Just like that.

“I like you …” she finally says, and his heart is hammering in his chest. Good start. “… and Lommy. And Hot Pie. I’m glad I met you.” Less good continuation.

But there’s something in her voice that’s like shivering a little, and while she’s still looking at the stars and he’s still looking at her she takes a step towards him, seeming almost unaware that she’s doing so, and all of a sudden she’s so close, so fucking close, he thinks he can almost feel the warmth of her contrast the icy bite of the night, but maybe that is wishful thinking.

And then he does it.

He just does it.

He raises his hand and runs it through her hair and her eyes flutter close and it’s such an un-Arya thing to do that Gendry thinks he might die a little. He can see her relax, the tension leaving her body, so he does it again, her hair so soft in his hands …

And it’s she who takes the lead then, of course, she who turns towards him, she who stares him in the eye, she who stands on her tiptoes to reach, she who presses her lips to his.

Her eyes that flutter shut again.

It’s not a very good kiss, at first.

They’re both grinning to much.

* * *

“Arya?”

He’s not sure how much time has passed. He smiles as he pulls back a little.

“What?” she says, frowning, looking annoyed at having been interrupted. His heart aches.

“You like me more than Lommy.” A snort from her at that, he kisses her forehead. “And Hot Pie.”

“Fine”, she mutters, but he’s pretty sure he can hear her smile a little, too.

“Say it.”

“I like you more than Lommy and Hot Pie, stupid!” she practically growls.

A pause. She leans towards him.

“Don’t tell them I said that, though.”


	4. Here We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for @snowysansastark who requested Gendry and Arya flirting with everyone’s reactions. Canon divergent/post-canon AU.

“Here we go”, Sansa warned as she glanced over her shoulder and saw Arya approaching.

Jon had brought Davos and Sansa with him to the armoury, to visit (and, Sansa understood even though Jon said nothing about it, size up and potentially intimidate) the new smith. The poor lad thankfully seemed unbothered by their close inspection of his work, Jon asking harsh questions in his most solemn voice. 

The smith had remained calm under Jon’s scrutiny, and at the moment the two men were looking at a sword in a mutual, brooding silence that Sansa suspected could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

But here came Arya, strutting across the yard, and Sansa looked on with an amused smile as the boy smith’s demeanour completely changed. Jon seemed puzzled by the sheepish smile that cleaved the smith’s lips, until Jon, too, saw Arya coming towards them, the spring snow falling making the picture rather romantic.

“M'lady”, the smith - Gendry, was it? - called out, with much more enthusiasm than when he’d greeted Sansa earlier. (Sansa didn’t mind in this instance.) Davos by Sansa’s side had to press his lips together in order not to smile.

“Don’t call me that”, Arya said, glaring at Sansa when she saw the knowing look on her sister’s face.

“As you wish, m'lady.” For the first time, Sansa saw a teasing glint in the smith’s eyes, and she coughed a laugh before she could stop herself. Jon smiled at her, raising his eyebrows - Sansa had to turn her head away to keep from totally losing it. She could feel Arya’s death stare as she desperately tried to surpress another giggle.

“Is my sword ready?” Arya said to the smith, ignoring Sansa.

“You gave him your sword?” Jon asked, flabbergasted. Sansa suddenly stopped laughing. Arya never went anywhere without that sword - for her to give it up willingly …

“I wanted to have it engraved”, Arya said, eyes on the floor, almost shy.

“You’d let a stranger engrave Needle?” Jon said in disbelief, and Sansa nearly rolled her eyes. Jon was a clever man, but for one such, he could be rather oblivious.

“He’s not a stranger”, Arya said, now looking directly at Gendry. “I trust him.”

And if Sansa hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn she saw the smith blush.


	5. Teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for anon: "Gendrya where Dadvos teases Gendry for crushing on a high born whilst Sandor teases Arya for liking the whinger"

“Hm”, ser Davos said with a hard-to-read smile on his face. They were in the forge, Gendry working and ser Davos keeping him company. Arya had just left them - she spent an hour or two a day in the forge, nowadays. “Hm”, ser Davos said again, lifting his head to look out the door, through which Arya had walked only seconds before, still with that odd smile on his face.

“What is it?” Gendry asked, putting the metal piece he’d been working on down and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He was puzzled by ser Davos’ smile - Gendry knew he wasn’t a teasing man, but a teasing smile it was, he saw now.

“It’s nothing, I just … I thought you weren’t fond of highborns?” ser Davos asked, still smiling.

Gendry could feel his cheeks burn red.

* * *

The Hound was watching her sparr again - an annoying habit of his, if you asked Arya (the Hound, obviously, hadn’t) - when Gendry unexpectedly walked by, smiling at her before continuing walking towards the castle. It got Arya so distracted that Brienne landed an easy blow, knocking the practice sword out of her hand.

The Hound - never one to be curteous - laughed out loud, and when she walked towards him, scowling, to pick up the sword, he - to her embarrassment - said;  
“You chose well, girl - you’ll have an endless supply of swords, if you go down that route.”


	6. Winter Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for an anon.

Arya’s on her way down to the forge to find Gendry when she spots them in the yard.

Sansa’s left the great hall for the day, it appears - she’s the image of the committed queen as she stands out there in the snow, engaged in deep conversation with Gendry. Arya halts in her steps in the thin layer of snow covering the castle courtyard, hesitant to approach. She wants to walk up to them and learn what they’re discussing - Winterfell business, most likely - but at the same time, if their conversation against all odds is about something  _interesting_ , it would be more clever of her to wait until they’re finished and then milk the juicy information out of Gendry.

Her dilemma solves itself when Sansa, with a curtsey that has Arya snorting even from a distance and Gendry  _blushing_  (causing Arya to snort even louder), turns around and leaves Gendry alone in the yard. Arya’s quick to go to him.

“M'lady”, he greets her. She frowns at him.

“What did  _she_  want?” Arya nods towards Sansa’s back, which is just disappearing through the doorway back inside.

“Who?” In his defence, Gendry genuinely seems confused.

“Sansa. My sister, you know - red hair, runs this place. What’d she want?” Arya asks, a bit annoyed and worried now. Gods, are they keeping secrets from her?

“Nothing much. She’s -”

“She’s what?”

“No, it’s just that she - I never talked to her before. I’ve only heard what the men were saying. An ice queen, they called her. Said she was scary, and beautiful. I didn’t expect the rumors to be so … true.”

“Pardon?” Arya says, not sure if she should be amused or offended. Beautiful she has heard countless men call Sansa, but  _scary_  … “ _Sansa_? Scary? I should think it is quite clear  _I_  am the scary sister, thank you very much.”

“Aye, you are alike her, in that way”, Gendry grins, in his usual teasing manner. “Scary, and b-”

He cuts himself off faster than lightning. All of a sudden the snow-filled yards seems to go deathly silent - Arya can hear her own breathing. Was he going to say -

“Go on”, she urges. Gendry is blushing again, refusing to meet her eyes. “Finish the sentence. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing”, Gendry quickly mutters, “I should probably get back to-”

“I am scary, and - what?”

“You already bloody know what.”

“Tell me.”

“So demanding this afternoon, m'lady. Perhaps you should have a maid pour you a hot bath? To soothe your lady nerves?”

“I’ll  _drown_  you in a hot bath.”

“You  _are_  scary.”

“And … ?”

“And beautiful.”

And despite early winter’s chilly winds, Arya suddenly feels warm.


	7. Not As Planned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU prompt fill for @ravenfuckingreyes: “Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

Things didn’t quite work out as planned.

If Arya was to be completely honest, she had taken Gendry horse-riding mainly because she wanted to introduce him to her horse. That had gone well - Nymeria seemed to like him, which was a good sign. When Sansa had taken Joffrey Baratheon to the stables last year, Lady had wound up biting Joffrey’s hand - not badly, but enough for him to refuse to set foot in the stables again - so Arya certainly trusted the horses as judges of character.

Gendry had passed that test. But, since they were here, Gendry had insisted on actually, you know, riding a horse.

That had gone well, too, at first - Gendry had eagerly if a bit unsteadily mounted a patient Nymeria, riding slowly around the paddock, gliding from side to side in the saddle as the horse moved. At first, Arya’d been tense. She cared about Gendry, the stupid prick, who despite his cocky attitude had clearly never ridden before, and even though Nymeria was the most reliable horse Arya’d ever had, it was a long way to fall should Gendry loose his balance.

But Gendry had done surprisingly well, murmuring praise to the horse as she listened to his commands, earning him a smile from Arya.

Of course it was when Arya’d begun relaxing that shit had hit the fan.

A loud  _BANG_! had appeared out of nowhere, causing Nymeria to jump to the side - the horse had quickly calmed down, but it had been enough to make Gendry slide down the horse’s side, hitting the ground with a soft thump as Nymeria trotted a few more steps and then - seemingly realising something, or some _one_ , was missing - halted.

And now Gendry was on his back in the sand, lying very, very still.

“Shit”, Arya nearly whispered. “Gendry?”

No reply.

“ _Fuck_.” She ran up to him then as he laid there in the sand, trying to recall what little she knew of CPR. He had his eyes closed - Arya’s heart nearly stopped. “Gendry?  _Shit_. If you’re dead, I’m going to  _kill_  you …”

He blinked, then, looking up at her kneeling beside him, shooting her a crooked smile.

“Not dead. Yet.”

“Did you hit your head?” Arya asked, adrenalin still rushing through her.  _He’s not dead,_  she reminded herself. Yet.

“I’m wearing a helmet, Arya.”

“So? You can still hit your head.”

“Arya?” Gendry said, getting up to a sitting position, still half-smiling. Suddenly he was very, very close to her. “Did you know … that I think I’ve …  _fallen_  for you?”

“Oh my god. That is -” Arya shook her head. “- the worst pun I’ve ever heard. Now I kind of hope you hit your head, because if you came up with that without a severe head injury I think …” She was cut off by him lifting a somewhat sandy hand to gently brush her cheek, distracting her to silence.

And then … Arya wasn’t sure what happened next. She just … sort of … leaned in and kissed him. 

_Must be the adrenaline._


	8. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty prompt fill for anon: "Gendrya where Arya gets injured or sick and Gendry looks after her"

They send for him as night falls - on who’s request, Gendry does not know. It might have been king Jon’s, or lady Sansa’s perhaps, by raven. It makes no difference. Arya’s injured, is all he’s heard - wounded in battle.

It’s enough to send Gendry nearly running through the gates at twilight, the stars blinking awake above, while his heart beats so hard it should make the ground quake.

He is let into her chambers - that’s how he knows it’s serious. These nobles would never let him enter a  _lady’s_  chambers alone if it wasn’t a life or death-situation. The thought could almost have been amusing if he weren’t so terrified.

Arya’s paler than the snow outside as he enters, and she’s laying unnaturally still. It makes his heart ache. Arya’s never still for long, always keeping moving, her blade and tongue equally sharp and quick. Seeing her lifeless in a bed wrapped in silence feels so very  _wrong_.

Almost as heart-breaking is the fact that her sword is nowhere in sight - he hopes to the gods someone has kept Needle in safe storage. It’ll probably be the first thing Arya asks about, when she wakes up.  _ ~~If she wakes up.~~_

“She’s lost a lot of blood”, the maester told him. “We can only wait. She’s near the critical point. If she makes it through the night, she’s likely to live.”

Likely to live. Only  _likely_  to.

And so Gendry waits. There is not much else to do. He sits by Arya’s bed in that awful, too-loud silence, thinking about all the things he should have said to her. 

He waits with her for morning in the shadows of her chamber, hoping, hoping he’ll still have a chance to say them.


End file.
